The Heart of the World
by K-yers
Summary: Frances Baptiste was chosen to become a war correspondent, with the task of following the newly formed paratroopers from training to wars end. With this new job comes new challenges, and war has a way of changing everyone. Rating may go up in later chapters.
1. 1: The Newsroom

The room was filled with the clack of typewriters crunching away. Between the typewriters crunching, people spoke and pens scratched against paper. Ever since Pearl Harbor was attacked last December, the newsroom had been filled with people writing reports on the men volunteering, the ways civilians could help out with the war effort, what could happen now that the United States was going to war, and what had already happened over in Europe so that the average Detroiter could catch up on how the war was already going.

Or that's what some reporters were working on. Others were doing the usual local news and stories, some fluff pieces. The last article I had turned in was one about a woman whose five sons had all volunteered for the Marines, so the block they lived on had thrown a party. I had eaten barbecue with the rest of the neighborhood and written a nice article about the five men and their mother's party planning skills.

At the desk beside me, Stirling Pye was writing a review of a play that had just debuted. Stirling was about seven years older and quite happy to not be writing about the war all the damn time, thank you very much. His brother had joined the last war the United States had been involved in, and that war had cost him a brother. Stirling paused with his writing and glanced around the newsroom.

"Looks like Billy's betting on himself," Stirling observed. "I have a better chance of getting Mackensie's assignment than that fresh outta high school chump."

I looked over to where the nineteen year old Billy Gillis was leaning over the secretary's desk, talking loudly about the story opening now that Mackensie was leaving. The secretary looked interested; she sure was smiling widely at him.

"Mr. McIntire won't give it to Billy." I said, going back to my report on the statistics of victory gardens working. "He was yelling about how all young men should be fighting. No; I think he's waiting for Billy to sign up and head out."

Stirling snorted. "I wouldn't mind him signing up and heading out. If I gotta hear about how he was a star football player throughout high school one more time, I banning my girls from ever dating athletes."

"Stirling, did you have a bad time in school?" I asked, smiling smugly.

The older man snorted, his typewriter dinging proudly along with him. "I was an overweight farm boy who couldn't read or write when we moved here. How do _you_ think I did?"

"Clearly, you were a stud." I replied. Stirling smiled slightly, returning to his review now that he had properly complained about something. I had been sitting in the desk beside Stirling for a couple of years now; the moment he was done complaining, he'd dive back into his reviews until they were done.

The man had been vital to me surviving working here at the _Detroit Free Press_. I had once been that straight out of college kids, just lucky enough to be here considering how few women were actual reporters and journalists. Stirling had given advice, let me vent my frustrations away, invited me to his family's Thanksgiving dinner. If it hadn't been for Stirling, I would have floundered and wind up stuck writing cleaning advice columns for the rest of my days.

The desk a few feet away from mine was newly empty, just a lone typewriter left behind for the next journalist to take.

Mackensie had left to serve his country again. He was in his early forties, and the moment Japan had attacked Pearl Harbor, Mackensie had gone back into active duty to help train the new soldiers going in. And in his leaving, he left behind a massive story that was going to "change the way the people saw the war."

Mr. McIntire had proclaimed that anyone who wanted to try and take up Mackensie's story were free to put their names in, but only one could be chosen. The details of the story were hush hush; all that was known about it was that it was going to involve a lot of traveling. No details as to where they'd be going.

Like most others in this room, I had put my name in the running to be chosen. We were supposed to be finding out who was going today. But until the journalist was named, I typed out the article about victory gardens and how popular they were becoming.

The bang of the newsroom door silenced all of the muffled conversations. The moment Robert McIntire stalked into the room, everyone buried their heads in either papers or typewriters. Billy scrambled away from the secretary, his nose in some random papers as he pretended to be invested. Mr. McIntire glared at him as he passed, looking disgusted that he hadn't joined up yet. The editor in chief of the _Detroit Free Press_ glared over the heads bent over paper and typewriters until-

"Miss Baptiste!" He bellowed and I flinched. "My office!" With that ordered, he stalked back into his office, leaving the door wide open.

"Dammit, Frances," Stirling grumbled, looking over his desk to me. "What'd you do?"

"I wrote about men joining the service?" I suggested, standing up and running my hands over my skirt quickly before hurrying to the wide open office door, hating the fact that my heels were clicking against the wooden floor and adding to the ambience of noise. I knew the moment the office door was closed behind me, the conversations would start up again with fury.

The moment I entered the office, Mr. McIntire barked, "Close the door." The moment the door was closed: "Do you think of yourself as a real reporter, Baptiste?"

I paused for a moment. "I believe so, sir."

Mr. McIntire rifled through some papers on his desk. "Last article you wrote was on a neighborhood picnic."

I nodded, feeling incredibly uncomfortable in my heels. Mr. McIntire glanced between me and the seat in front of his desk. "Sit down already and tell me about how you reported on the picnic."

The moment I sat down, I went into my explanation of talking to all five brothers and their parents and their neighbors. The barbecue had just been a perk. Mr. McIntire listened patiently to my response and he hummed slightly before looking through more papers. I realized that those must be every other article I had written for the newspaper.

"You wrote a piece on the war in Europe," Mr. McIntire plowed on. "A week after Pearl Harbor was bombed. Titled it, '_What to Know and Where We're Going_.' You got anyone going into the service, Miss Baptiste? Brother, boyfriend?"

"No, Mr. McIntire." I replied. "My brother's just going into high school."

Mr. McIntire grunted. "You ever heard of paratroopers before?"

I blinked. "I don't believe I have. It sounds familiar."

"The Soviets started it first." Mr. McIntire said. "Dropping men behind enemy lines. There's a camp training men down in Georgia as we speak."

I felt my heart catch in my throat. "Was that Mackensie's project?"

"It was." Mr. McIntire admitted with an irritated sigh. "It was set up to be a breakthrough for the _Free Press_! A war correspondent would accompany this paratrooping division and write up reports to send back here. But now that Mackensie is gone, I need someone else to take the spot." There was a pregnant pause in which Mr. McIntire and I stared at each other, both of us waiting for the other to respond. Finally: "Would you want the job?"

I almost didn't get to answer because the lurch of my stomach. My heart pounded in my throat as the first thought that went through my mind was how I'd see the war first hand. I'd been writing articles about the war even before America had entered it, and now I was going to be up close and personal with it. For a moment I could feel my heart pounding almost painfully. But I smiled and shook Mr. McIntire's hand and thanked him for the opportunity. The rest of our meeting happened in a blur, with details such as what I would need to report on, who I would need to focus on meeting, and details like payment and expenses. When the meeting was over, I left the office and hurried to Stiling's desk and hissed the news to my friend. Stirling stopped his review and hurried to his feet to hug me.

I'd have to leave Detroit to head to Toccoa, Georgia in a few days. Mr. McIntire passed me the forms and papers I'd need to fill out before going. Before I left work, Mr. McIntire and I sent a telegram to the man in charge of the paratroopers to let him know I would be in Georgia by Monday. Hopefully Colonel Sink would get back to me sometime before then so that I'd have an idea of what to expect before going.

When the time came to punch out for the day, I hopped onto the streetcar heading towards Grosse Pointe. The streetcar was jam packed with others getting off work, mostly coming from the automotive plants. I sat in silence and watched the Detroit pass me by, the gravity of what I had just agreed to beginning to settle in.

Mr. McIntire had explained that my job as a war correspondent for the Army paratroopers would be to be a sort of honorary member of the paratroopers. I'd have to learn how to fire a weapon, in case I ever needed to defend myself. I'd have to learn some first aid, in case I ever needed to take care of myself (the company's medic was supposed to only care for his men). And because there was no heavenly way to transport me behind enemy lines to follow the paratroopers around, I'd have to jump out of planes with them. Officially, I had to stay towards the back and observe without intervening, but sometimes accidents happened.

How was I going to tell my family?

The crowd on the streetcar thinned until it was finally my stop. I hopped off and began the trek to Mother and Father's house. As I walked through the neighborhood, I took in the trimmed green grass and larger brick houses. The moment Father had made enough money, he moved the whole family into a red brick house on the corner of a nice neighborhood. The Depression had made him nervous about the family being separated, and he wanted to provide for his family. He worked at one of the banks downtown, so the money issue wasn't really a problem for him.

The Hollingworth children who lived next door were playing basketball in the driveway. I waved to the trio of young boys before going inside my own house, the scent of a cooking pot roast filling my nose instantly.

The kitchen was busy. Mother was knitting at the table, clearly waiting for the roast to be finished. Across from her sat Jill, the youngest of the family at thirteen. She was grumbling at a single piece of paper in front of her; homework most likely. I came up behind her and kissed the top of her head.

"Ah!" Jill exclaimed, spinning around to see me chuckling at her. "Anything interesting happen in the news today, Frank?"

I shrugged, looking over at Mother. "I'll tell you after dinner. Mother, can I talk to you and Father?"

Mother blinked, finally looking up from her knitting. "He'll be home in a few minutes. You can wait here." She gestured to one of the empty chairs at the table.

I shook my head, feeling my heart beat hard again. "It needs to be said in private."

Now I had Jill's complete attention. "What's happening? What's so important it can't be said in front of me?"

Mother put the knitting down and stood. "Jill, get the roast out when the timer goes off." She gestured for me to lead the way to somewhere more private, and we walked in silence to Father's study. When we were finally alone, Mother looked at me with anticipation. "Is this good or bad news?"

I opened my mouth and closed it again. "A bit of both, I guess. It's definitely a pay raise, that's for sure." Mother's eyes flashed and she reached up with both hands to tuck strands of red hair behind her ears-a tick telling me that she was nervous.

Mother was only forty two, but the stress of her family suffering just a few years ago had aged her. Her red hair had grayed considerably around her roots, and crows feet formed around her eyes. Her side of the family were doing better now that the economy was recovering, but Grandpa Larsen had passed away from a heart attack and Uncle Walter had moved out to California and Mother hadn't heard anything from her brother since.

Out of my family, she was going to take my leaving to report on the war the hardest.

Father came home a few minutes after that, and he looked incredibly surprised to see his wife and eldest sitting patiently in his office. "Am I late for the appointment?" He asked with a tense smile. Mother said nothing and looked to me to explain everything. I stood up from my seat and gestured for Father to sit.

"I got an amazing opportunity at work today." I started. "And I need you two to wait until I'm finished to react." As I explained what a war correspondent was, and what I'd have to do in a few short days, I watched the color drain from Father's face until he looked as white as paper. Mother's eyes welled with tears and the tears fell but she made no move to wipe them away. When I finished, Father stood up and paced to the corner where I knew he kept his whiskey hidden.

"Could you turn it down?" Mother asked, barely breathing.

"I wouldn't want to even if I could." I said without making eye contact. "Mr. McIntire and I already contacted Colonel Sink to let him know when I'll be there."

"Then send another telegram."

"We can't."

"You can't possibly go!" Mother exclaimed, her voice breaking a bit. "Frank. You're a woman! You're my little girl and your boss is crazy if he thinks you should be able to go! What kind of agenda is he pushing? I'm going to write to him to tell him he can't allow this!"

A glass shattered and I flinched as Father accidentally broke the glass he had just drained. He swung around to face me and he looked genuinely angry. "I let you have a decent amount of freedom, Frankie. But this is pushing it too far. You don't need to throw yourself into the middle of a war to be a good journalist; you can stay home and do that!" He spun back around and got a second glass and filled it to the rim with whiskey.

I straightened myself against their united front and spoke as calmly as I could, even though my knees were shaking in my heels. "I know neither of you want me to go. But this is something I'm volunteering for. I _want _to go! If I didn't want to, Mr. McIntire wouldn't have been able to make me. I'm sorry, but I'm going."

They both stared at me as if they didn't know who I was. I held firm against their stares and waited for their response. Finally, Mother stood up and dragged me into a bone crushing embrace, burying her face into my shoulder. After downing his glass of whiskey, Father approached and placed his hands on Mother's shoulders, still looking rather gray. Neither of them were happy, but they had no power to try and stop me now.

From the kitchen, the timer went off.


	2. 2: Herbert Sobel

My siblings had mixed reactions to my new job. Tommy, a typical fifteen year old boy, had immediately been interested in how close I'd get to be to the machinery and he begged me to bring him back something cool. Shirley, a seventeen year old going into her senior year this fall, had looked scared but quietly said that she'd write me every week. Jill had been loud with her disapproval of me going anywhere. She had been so angry that she had refused to see me off when I boarded the train to take me to Georgia.

Lieutenant Colonel Sink had gotten back to me before I had left. He had sent a long telegram with instructions on what to do when I got to Toccoa, where I'd be staying, and what company I'd get to trail behind for the foreseeable future. I had a meeting with Lieutenant Herbert Sobel the day I arrived.

I had just enough time to drop my luggage off at the inn I'd be staying at before my meeting with Lieutenant Sobel. The blistering heat of the Georgia sun beat down on me as I made my way through Camp Toccoa. I had made the executive decision to dress in my most professional outfit: a pencil skirt and whit blouse that was able to breathe, so that I wouldn't die of heat down here. My heels made that clicking noise as I walked down the sidewalk pavement, looking for the correct building where Lieutenant Sobel's office should be.

The inside of the office building was only slightly less hot than the outside. A rotating fan was on its highest setting and all of the windows were wide open. The front room was simple: a couple of chairs to sit in, a potted plant with brown edges on the leaves, and a heavy desk with a boy who looked to be just eighteen manning it.

The boy was wearing an Army uniform and, despite the fact that he looked like he could've been in Shirley's class, held himself with an air of pride that almost made me believe he was older. I smiled kindly at him and started, "Hi there, I'm Frances Baptiste. I have a meeting with Lieutenant Sobel at one o'clock."

The young man balked for a moment at Lieutenant Sobel's name but recovered quickly enough. "You're his thirteen hundred?" He asked. "Lieutenant Sobel is at lunch right now with the rest of his men, but he should be by soon. I'll send a runner and let him know you're here." He sat down and began scribbling something down before moving around the desk to the door. "You can sit down, Miss Baptiste."

He passed on a note to someone and came back inside, resuming his post. I reached into my bag and pulled out the fresh notebook and pen I had brought.

_Camp Toccoa, Georgia is a bowl of heat and humidity. Just walking into camp let me see the many companies of men training hard for the Army._

I only had to wait maybe ten minutes before the door to the office building opened with a violent swing and the young man behind the desk shot to his feet to attention. I stood up too, and found myself face to face with a tall, long faced man with dark black hair and narrowed hazel eyes. He frowned hard at me for a moment before, "Frances Baptiste?"

"Yes sir," I replied, trying to ignore the fact that he sounded skeptical. "You must be Lieutenant Herbert Sobel?" I stuck my hand out for him to shake and he recovered almost immediately.

"Good to meet you, Miss Baptiste." He replied in a clipped voice. "Please." He led me into his office behind the desk and closed the door behind us when we were inside. I took the seat in front of his desk and sat ready with the notebook and pen. When Lieutenant Sobel sat down at his own desk, he looked me over very curiously before speaking.

"I have to admit," He started. "I wasn't expecting a woman to write this story."

I gave him a half smile, the amusement of the situation failing to meet my eyes. "My boss tends to give assignments based on writing skills, not whether or not the writer's a man or woman."

"How many women do you work with?"

"Not including the secretaries, and including myself, there are seven women journalists working for the _Detroit Free Press._" I said evenly. "Progress is a slow moving street, Lieutenant."

Lieutenant Sobel snorted softly with amusement, as if what I had said was funny. "How many of them write cleaning or cooking columns?" He huffed with slight laughter again and I didn't answer, not wanting him to know that out of those seven journalists, only three wrote about actual news. The rest were stuck writing just cleaning and cooking columns.

"Enough about my job," I said right as Lieutenant Sobel finished laughing at his own joke. "I want to hear about these paratroopers you're training. From what I know already, they're going through the toughest training the Army has to offer. Can you tell me about it?"

"Well," Lieutenant Sobel openly smiled a smug grin. "A platoon in uniform is only as good as its commander. For every exercise I have Easy Company accomplish, I work at it alongside them."

_Lieutenant Sobel claims to train as hard as his men._ I wrote down in the notebook.

"Is it hard to train with them along with leading them?" I asked.

"If you know what you're doing, it's not that hard. It takes plenty of discipline and action, Miss Baptiste. Not only are these men training to join the Army, they're training to become paratroopers. It takes a certain kind of man to become a paratrooper, and not everyone has it."

"Have you sent anyone to a different area of the Army?" I asked, annoyed that I couldn't think of the proper word. "Like they're still in the Army but no longer a paratrooper?"

Lieutenant Sobel was smiling that smug grin again. "Some have been transferred to different _units_, yes. Others prove to be so lacking with what the Army is looking for, that it's sometimes appropriate to discharge them altogether."

"Have you ever sent anyone to a different unit or recommended a discharge?" I repeated my question.

Lieutenant Sobel didn't break eye contact when he replied with an amused, "Not yet."

I had just finished scribbling another note down when Lieutenant Sobel suddenly stood up. "Follow me, Miss Baptiste." I hurried after him as we left the office building. He kept talking over his shoulder at me, not bothering to adjust his stride. I struggled after him, walking through the surprisingly rough ground in heels and focusing on not slipping and rolling an ankle.

He led the way to a stretch of dry grass in front of a trio of tents. A man with bright red hair was leading a training session, and the men scattered in loose rows looked like they were testing each other push ups. The moment we were close enough, Lieutenant Sobel bellowed, "Easy Company! Attention!"

The men of Easy stopped what they were doing and scrambled to their feet to take the position of attention. Several were panting and red faced, and many were squashing the looks of surprise at being interrupted. The red headed man who had been leading the physical training stared at Lieutenant Sobel with concerned eyes, silently questioning why the men were stopping.

Lieutenant Sobel seemed to forget I was there and he strode over to the other officer, leaving the men at attention. I looked away from Lieutenant Sobel to see the men and I felt on edge the moment I realized that quite a few were looking back at me from the corner of their eyes. They were trying to figure me out from between eyelashes and quick glances. I looked away from them as Lieutenant Sobel started to return to me with the second officer at his heels.

"Miss Baptiste," Lieutenant Sobel said loudly. "This is Second Lieutenant Winters. He was just leading the men through one of the rigorous PT sessions I was telling you about."

"Pleasure to meet you, ma'am." Lieutenant Winters shook my hand and instantly I liked this soft spoken man more than Lieutenant Sobel. "Lieutenant Sobel tells me you're the journalist we've been waiting for. It's nice to finally put a face to a name."

"It's good to meet you too, Lieutenant Winters." I replied. "What kind of PT were you going through with the men just now?"

"We were going through our assessments, Miss Baptiste." He replied. "Testing the men on how many of an exercise they can accomplish within a small amount of time. It's a simple way of seeing where our men stand." I quickly jotted everything he said down and Lieutenant finally turned his attention to the Easy Company men who were still standing in the uncomfortable position of attention.

"Private Bullshit!" He shouted, stalking up the closest man to him. "How many push ups did you complete within the minute?"

"I was at forty seven, sir." The man said, his face was almost as red as his hair, his freckles standing out dramatically.

"Forty seven?" Lieutenant Sobel echoed. "Forty seven in one minute is pitiful, Private Malarkey. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"The minute wasn't up yet, sir." Private Malarkey tried to explain.

"That's a shitty excuse and you know it, Private Bullshit. If you had a weekend pass, you don't anymore."

"Yes, sir."

Lieutenant Sobel continued through the ranks, finding random faults and revoking weekend passes at nearly every chance. Soon returned to stand with me and Lieutenant Winters and I stared at him in disbelief. Malarkey looked like he was chewing on the inside of his mouth hard enough to bite a hole through his cheek. The unfairness of the situation threw me off enough that I nearly missed Lieutenant Sobel giving me permission to go around the camp and gather as much information I needed for my article. I thanked him for the opportunity and wondered to myself if every commanding officer was as harsh to their men as Sobel just was to Malarkey.


	3. 3: Camp Toccoa

I waited by the building where more officers had their offices. Sobel had set up me getting a tour from someone; he was far too busy running his company to give me a whole tour of camp. Lieutenant Winters had sent a runner to grab someone for me, someone Winters said he trusted.

I wasn't waiting for long when someone came out from the doorway, took one look at me and pointed. "Baptiste?"

"That's me." I replied, shaking his hand.

He ran a hand through his dark hair and smiled in a charming way. "I'm Lieutenant Nixon. Dick mentioned you had to stop by. Seems like Sobel wants you to know your way around the camp."

I nodded. "Can't imagine I'd be able to find my way around here without knowing. Last thing I need is getting lost around here."

"You seem smart, I think you'd find your way around eventually even without a tour." Lieutenant Nixon said with a shrug. "Come on, Baptiste. I'll show you everything you'll need to know. Starting with this building. My office is here, and so is Lieutenant Winters and Lieutenant Welsh. The next buildings over are for other officers for the other companies. You can easily find us because we have a giant E over the door." He made a big point of gesturing to the bold E in black paint.

"I think I'd be able to figure that out myself." I said dryly.

While Lieutenant Sobel would've been serious in pointing this out as useful information, Nixon was joking. He chuckled lightly at me and I knew he wasn't making fun of me. Nixon pulled a pair of dark sunglasses from his pocket and put them on.

"I'll show you where all the important stuff is." Nixon said, walking off and leaving me to follow him. "I think what you need to focus on are the Easy barracks, the mess hall, showers, and general neutral areas. No offense to you, Baptiste, but I don't think other companies will take to kindly to you hanging around."

"Why's that?"

"Well, some of these morons don't know about the articles you're writing." Nixon explained. "So they may be a bit defensive seeing you walk around and taking notes of things. Worrying about spies and what not. Your name is French; you speak it?"

"Yes." I said. "My grandparents were born there and demanded we spoke French during family gatherings."

"We're not at one of your family gatherings, Baptiste. Don't speak French around here. You might scare some of our more squirrely officers around here."

I snorted in appointment. "Last I checked we weren't fighting the French."

Nixon smiled. "True. But the Nazis took Paris a couple of years ago. Who's to say they haven't used French spies?"

"When you say it like that, you make it sound like I could be a spy."

Nixon chuckled again. "You'd be the worst spy in history, using your real name. Even if it was a fake, it's a very French name."

"You got me!" I said, laughing along with him. Nixon smiled and he pointed to the barracks that we were passing.

"Well, worst spy in history, here's the Easy Company barracks." Nixon explained. "We've got three of them, they're usually here to sleep, relax, and whenever they get a day off. Sobel has a tendency of cancelling their weekend passes, so they wind up staying here when they've got nothing else to do."

"What are they usually allowed to do during weekend passes?"

"Go out to town, eat a decent meal that doesn't come from the mess, go to the movies." Nixon shrugged. "Anything a normal fellow would be able to do."

I jotted something down in the notebook. _Weekend passes are a chance to experience everyday American things._ Nixon waited until I was done before continuing on with the tour. He led the way to the field, where I spotted obstacle courses set up with men clambering around.

"Is that Easy over there?" I asked.

"No, that's probably Dog Company." Nixon said, frowning at the faraway men in the field. "Lieutenant Speirs is in charge of of Dog, and he's one of those men you might want to steer clear of. He tends to scare lots of people away."

I snorted. "Is one of those people you?"

Nixon immediately snorted with amusement. "You've got no proof of that, worst spy. Anyway, Easy is up there." He pointed to the large hill at the edge of the field. "That's Currahee. Sobel's got an obsession with having the men run up there. They started about forty minutes ago; they should be coming down soo-oh, look there's one now."

Right as Nixon said this, one of the men stumbled to the bottom of the hill. "Let's go say hi." Nixon said cheerfully without considering me. I went after him, some more men clambering down the hill as we got close enough. "Saw you were the first one down the hill, Penkala. Great job."

Penkala, his round face red and covered in sweat, smiled tiredly at Nixon. "Thanks, Lieutenant." He saw me and kept his smile, nodding politely at me. "Nice to meet you, ma'am."

"Nice to meet you, sir." I replied. Penkala sat down on the grass and started stretching. Nixon led me over to another man who had finished his run.

"Sergeant Lipton, great run time." Nixon greeted him. The man he was addressing was blond, tall, and had very broad shoulders. He shrugged when Nixon complimented him, leading Nixon to pat me on the back. "Sergeant Lipton this is Baptiste. She's writing a bunch of articles about us."

Sergeant Lipton's eyes widened as he shook my hand. "All decent things, I hope Miss Baptiste."

"Nothing negative as shown up yet," I replied.

A man walking by had just come off the hill, and he frowned at me as he walked past. "You sure you didn't meet Sobel?"

"Be polite, Luz." Sergeant Lipton warned, though he had a hint of amusement in his eyes. Luz shrugged and walked off, casting another few glances at me as he left. He went to a group of men and began speaking in hushed tones. I pretended not to notice the men watching me with narrowed eyes, none of them looking like they trusted me all that much.

The longer Nixon and I spent at the base of Currahee, the more men from Easy trampled down. They all either sat down to stretch their legs, or gathered into groups to talk for a few minutes. Nixon introduced me to a few more men from Easy, nearly all of them being painfully polite, nearly guarded. When Lieutenant Winters ran down the hill, he weaved around the men, speaking briefly to a few of them before making his way over to me and Lieutenant Nixon.

"How was the run, Dick?" Nixon asked.

"Almost as fun as your paperwork." Winters replied. He smiled politely at me. "Enjoying your stay, Miss Baptiste?"

"So far, so good." I said. "It's nice getting an idea of what the physical training entails. Did Lieutenant Sobel tell you that I need to participate in the PT?"

Winters and Nixon looked at each other and seemed to have a full conversation without saying a word. Winters looked back to me, "Lieutenant Sobel didn't mention that."

I blinked but forced myself to recover. "I talked to him about it. I'm going to be following Easy Company for majority of the war. I need to be able to keep up."

"After this we have to train for jumping, Dick." Nixon pointed out. "Sobel can't expect her to keep up not knowing how to do it."

The man from earlier-Luz-looked like he was going to say something to Winters and Nixon, but upon hearing this bit of information, he spun back around and sped over to the same group of people he'd been speaking to earlier. I blinked at his back as he started talking quickly to the others and turned back to Winters and Nixon.

Winters nodded to me. "I'll talk to Lieutenant Sobel for you. If you don't train a little here, you won't be able to make it at Fort Benning."

"Yeah, I don't want that." I said, trying to force some humor into my voice. Winters smiled thinly while Nixon snorted with amusement again.

Finally, the last man was running down the hill. He was limping slightly and Lieutenant Sobel was at his heels. Even though the pair were still a ways away from us, I still could barely make out Sobel yelling at him for some reason.

"That's our cue," Nixon said with a huff. "C'mon, Baptiste. We'll finish the rest of the tour."

"I'll ask Lieutenant Sobel about training, Miss Baptiste." Winters assured me before Nixon and I left, leaving Sobel's shrill voice behind us.

"You really don't like him, do you?" I asked.

Nixon shrugged. "He reminds me of a headmaster I had back when I was a kid. The less I have to be around him, the better. Now let's go look at the mess hall and see what they've got going for dinner."


	4. 4: Training

It didn't take long for me to figure out why many of the Easy Company men didn't particularly like me. Every time I tried to take notes on what kind of workouts the men were accomplishing, Lieutenant Sobel decided it was time to show off and he'd start pushing the men of Easy Company even harder until I left. This fact left me receiving countless glares and grumbled comments from Easy Company whenever I showed up.

"Crazy fucking skirt," One of them hissed just loud enough to be heard as I left one afternoon. I ground my teeth and tried not to be offended by them. But at the same time, it wasn't my fault that their lieutenant decided to drive them into the ground whenever he saw me.

In order for me to have been accepted into following Easy Company specifically, the commanding officer of the company had to approve for a war correspondent. I was with Easy _because _Lieutenant Sobel had approved it. Now that he was refusing to let me participate, it was starting to truly get under my skin. A week into my stay here, I approached Lieutenant Sobel with a request to join in on the PT. "I'll be jumping with you when the time comes," I reminded him. "I need to be able to hold my own for when that happens."

Sobel had frowned deeply before smirking and chuckling. "Oh, Miss Baptiste. There's no need for any of that. You shouldn't be expected to jump with us."

"But I am." I said bluntly. "I told you that already. I'm supposed to stick with Easy Company until my paper sees it fit for me to come back. I very well can't stick with you if no one lets me participate."

Sobel narrowed his eyes at me, and I believed that was the moment he realized that I wasn't kidding. "Miss Baptiste, forgive me for my bluntness. There's no reason for you to join in on Easy's PT. The training those men are going through is the most intensive training in the American Army. There's not only no need for you to participate with their training, but you understand it'd be difficult for you to do so."

I could feel the frustration and anger welling up in my chest at his words. I tightened my jaw and tried to keep my face neutral, trying not to let him see just how angry this statement made me. I heaved a sigh and clenched my fists at my side. "With all due respect, lieutenant," I started. "I'm going to need to jump out of the plane with the rest of the men. I can't be expected to do that without some kind of training involved."

Sobel didn't bother breaking eye contact when he said, "You're right. You shouldn't be expected to do any of this. As long as PT is done under my supervision, I will not allow company to be weighed down by a woman participating. That's my final stance on the matter." With that said, he stalked away, leaving me fuming behind him.

After that, Sobel's attitude towards me chilled. He no longer wanted to show off his paratroopers to me, and instead would make sure the men were either in class or running up Currahee whenever I showed up to write notes on the day to day training. I was half tempted to write to Lieutenant Colonel Sink's office to complain, but I hadn't gotten that desperate yet.

The next Monday morning, came hot and humid and the fog that had been surrounding the camp that morning had quickly evaporated. I entered Camp Toccoa as per usual, knowing that there was a slim chance that Sobel would let me join in on anything. I got back to the usual patch of dry grass in front of the barracks, just in time to see the men doing warm ups.

Lieutenant Sobel was nowhere to be seen.

Lieutenant Winters was stretching along with the rest of the men, and he was the first one to notice me hovering. He stood up and trotted over, looking genuinely pleased. "Good morning, Miss Baptiste. You look surprised."

I nodded. "Sorry about that. I don't see Lieutenant Sobel anywhere. Doesn't he normally lead morning PT?"

"Not this morning." Lieutenant Winters replied. "He's at a meeting with the other platoon leadership." He paused. "I heard about your request to join in PT being denied."

"I need to do something, lieutenant." I tried reason with this officer. "You must know that I'm supposed to travel with the rest of the company."

"I do know." Lieutenant Winters admitted. "I wouldn't have a problem with you joining in this morning's PT, but I don't think you're-" He cut himself off and pointed to my clothes.

I was wearing slacks instead of a dress, but I understood his concern. My slacks weren't exactly ready to work out in, and even in more casual clothes, it was still unlikely I'd be able to keep up with the men. I doubted I could keep up with them anyway, but I didn't want my clothes holding me back anymore than they already did. I excused myself from Lieutenant Winters and hurried away, and I swore I could hear him chuckling as I left.

The storage unit of the camp was a hike away, and it took some bribing to get a set of PT clothes, but I was able to get a set and change before hurrying back to where Easy Company trained. By the time I got back, they were going through an assessment.

The men pointedly ignored me as I sat down at the edge of their group. Lieutenant Winters watched me out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't make an effort to exile me from the morning's PT. Some of the men of Easy openly glanced openly at me. Most of them looked confused or bewildered that I was participating, only a handful looked genuinely angry that I was trying to do push ups with them.

By the time the men stopped their push ups, my arms were shaking violently and I could feel each bead of sweat forming on my forehead, but those who were confused were ignoring me now, which felt like a step in the right direction. Lieutenant Winters called for sit ups next, and immediately the men began to pair up to do sit ups together.

I was just about to do my sit ups by myself when I heard someone clear their throat near me. I looked over to see one of the men kneeling nearby, looking at me with curiosity. "You need a partner for sit ups?" He asked, his sun burned face bright on his tan face.

"Actually yes," I replied. The man silently moved so that he could hold down my toes and suddenly the sit ups became easier. And I recognized him from the other day.

"Name's Luz." The man holding my toes said.

"I remember you from when Lieutenant Nixon was showing me around." I said. Luz smiled broadly, his eyes crinkling. I started my sit ups in earnest after catching Winters' stern eye. Luz held my toes down firmly as I moved, accidentally catching the eyes of some nosy paratroopers.

"So!" Luz whisper yelled to get my attention. "You're Baptiste, right? We've been hearing a lot of things about you these last few days."

I paused, my stomach aching from sit ups. "Anything bad?"

Luz didn't answer right away. "Mostly it's all confused. We know you're here to write about paratroopers but no one knows why you're trying to work with us."

"Did someone send you over here to ask me why?" I asked, pushing myself to start moving again.

"Peconte did," Luz replied, nodding over to a small man who was holding the toes of a massive blond man. "But I know lots of guys are still trying to make you out. Guarnere is running a bet that you'll be gone by the time we leave for the war."

I paused in the sitting position. "That's rude."

Luz snorted. "That's nice. Cobb is saying you'll be gone before we leave Toccoa."

"Easy Company!" Lieutenant Winters shouted. "Switch partners!"

"Move over, Baptiste." Luz grunted, letting go of my toes and taking my spot on the grass. "My time to shine. You did twenty eight sit ups though; that's…" He trailed off and twisted his face into a sick expression.

I frowned and pressed my palms down on Luz's feet. "I get it. That's bad for paratroopers." I started counting Luz's sit ups.

"No-it's-not." Luz replied, each word coming with every time he sat up. "It's-pathetic-for-a-para-trooper."

I sighed heavily, a real flash of doubt clouding my mind. Even if I did quit, what would I even say when I got back? Mr. McIntire would be so royally pissed that he'd probably fire me. Mother and Father would never let it down, and proclaim that they had been right all along. I'd never hear the end of how I tried to be a war correspondent but came home before even writing anything because the men weren't nice. I thought about Lieutenant Sobel's conversation with me about refusing to train me and I scowled.

Lieutenant Winters called the end of the sit ups and I released Luz's feet. "You got to sixty three."

Luz hissed. "That's a mediocre job."

"What on earth is a good job for you?" I asked incredulously.

"My personal best was two weeks ago." Luz said, puffing his chest out. "I got to an even ninety. Ask Webster; he said it's the lack of stomach fat." He poked his stomach. The men around us stood up and Luz bounced to his feet, but he reached both hands out for me to take. "Get on up, Baptiste. You gonna run with us?"

"As long as Lieutenant Sobel is away, I'll get away with as much as I can." I replied.

Luz smiled at that. "Don't expect me to go easy on you. I talked lotta trash to Martin last run and I've gotta beat him."

"I wasn't given the impression that you were going easy on me at all." I said. Luz started stretching for the run and I mimicked him, causing him to snicker with amusement.

"Well then my advice to you, Private Baptiste, is to sprint the curved part of the track, and take it easy on the straight parts." Luz said, whispering in a dramatic way. The man he had pointed out as Perconte listened in and let out a huff of laughter. Luz continued, "Mind you, don't take it easy on the straight parts, just don't don't be slacking on them. Have you ever run a mile? Cause that's what we're about to do now?"

I didn't even get to answer. Luz took one look at my face and hissed again. "Well, if you gotta throw up just go to the side and do it. No one wants to run in your vomit."

"Thanks Luz," I said. Sergeant Lipton walked up behind us and ushered us to the edge of the field past the barracks. The track that we were about to run on wasn't a paved path; it instead looked like flattened path of grass, from thousands of men running along the same path. When the makeshift track turned, there were posts in the ground showing where you had to turn.

The men lined up and Lieutenant Winters shouted the go ahead. I started running the way Luz told me to, not sprinting and also not lolly-gagging. The men around me seemed to be doing the same thing. Except for Luz and the man who had to be Martin, as they were full on sprinting after each other.

For the first lap around the track, I was doing fine. I wasn't in the center, but I was far from being the last person. Sergeant Lipton was sticking close to me, but I couldn't tell if he was trying to keep close or genuinely accomplishing his own run. I thought about how much taller Lipton was than me, and figured he must be trying to hover.

"Go on, Sergeant!" I said, breathing heavily. "I've got this."

Sergeant Lipton gave me one final look before listening and he instantly sped up and left me in his tracks. Around halfway through the second lap, I started to struggle. My legs began shaking and my breathing came in shorter bursts. The men ignored me or gave me concerned glances. At some point, Luz passed me with a concerned look but I waved him on. Luz nodded once before continuing on his way to keep Martin away from winning their race.

The third lap had me gasping for air. Now most of the men were casting me very concerned looks. At some point, I tripped and landed hard on my front and immediately felt someone's hands pulling on my arms.

"C'mon, hon." Someone hissed as they lifted. I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the violent shaking in my knees.

"Thanks," I huffed, starting to jog again. The man who had helped me up jogged next to me for a moment or two before continuing on. I watched his dark black hair weave around the other men and he disappeared. I made a mental note of him, reminding myself to thank him for helping when I didn't feel like I was going to collapse.

When the run was over, I wanted to keel over and not move for years. By the time I finished, pretty much everyone was already done and they were stretching on the grass. I stumbled off the track along with the others and doubled over, breathing heavily and feeling as though my lungs were on fire.

"Oh fuck."

One of the men sitting near me mumbled this and I looked up just in time to see Lieutenant Sobel stalking towards me, plain fury in his bright eyes. Lieutenant Winters was right behind him, looking annoyed.

I managed to straighten myself up just in time for Lieutenant Sobel to reach me. The men who had been standing around me recovering quickly scrambled away to avoid the furious gaze of Sobel. Some were watching me with interest. I got the gist of what they must have been thinking: "Let's see how she handles a pissed off Sobel."

Lieutenant Sobel glowered down at me with fire in his eyes. "You deliberately went behind my back to-" She cut himself off, sounding like he was choking on his tongue. "Do you have any idea-What gave you the _right_?"

I straightened some more, glaring right back into Sobel's face. "I told you dozens of times, lieutenant. You refused to listen."

Lieutenant Winters stepped forward. "Sir, she came here with the exact orders to accompany Easy Company throughout the war. To do that-"

"I don't care what orders she was given!" Lieutenant Sobel shouted, all without breaking eye contact with me. I winced but refused to back down.

"You're not my boss." I said in a cold voice. "And I'm not going to get hurt because you refused to help me the way you were supposed to when you agreed to have a war correspondent attached to your company!"

Sobel grit his teeth, the vein in his forehead protruding. "If you really want to remain with Easy Company, you'll do well to follow my orders. I am the God damn _commanding_ officer!" His shout had some spittle that fell onto my face.

I aggressively wiped his spittle off my face and Sobel backed off. "What the _fuck_ are you still standing around for? An extra five laps, all of you!"

The men of Easy Company hurried away, many of them casting uneasy glances towards us. Luz shot me a concerned look before hurrying away, while the man named Martin he had been racing against fully glared at Sobel before disappearing.

"I have half a mind to report you to Colonel Sink!" Sobel practically snarled.

Lieutenant Winters cleared his throat. "Sir, you can't expect her to-"

"I don't remember asking you, Lieutenant Winters." Sobel snapped. "What were you thinking letting a woman participate in P.T? I will not let the reputation of Easy Company be tarnished by her!"

"I'm sorry," I interjected before Lieutenant Winters could respond. "But I managed to keep up with them!"

"You are not being trained to the same scrutiny as them!" Sobel snapped back, and I hated the fact that he was right. "I have never been so disrespected in my life!"

I opened my mouth to snap a fresh insult right back at him, but Winters took a step forward. "Sir, I think this should be a conversation best held in private." He threw a very pointed glance to the track a few feet away, where some of the men were trying to hear what was happening every time they made a round.

"Fine." Sobel snapped. "Believe me when I say I will be having a word with Colonel Sink about this nonsense. If you're going to disobey me on something as small a matter as this, then how am I supposed to guide you into war?"

I wanted to scream that this wasn't a small matter. But Lieutenant Sobel had whipped around to face Lieutenant Winters. "My office at thirteen hundred, lieutenant. We will discuss this matter in private." With one final fierce glare at me, he stalked away, still fuming with rage.

"I need to write to Colonel Sink." I announced to Winters. "I'm not letting Lieutenant Sobel get the only word in this matter."

Winters offered me a tired looking smile before I stalked away, angry and ready to send a strongly worded telegram straight to Colonel Sink's offices. I was halfway to the camp's entrance to get to my hotel when I stopped walking and heaved a sigh.

Lieutenant Winters had really stuck out his neck for me, standing up for me in front of Sobel, as well as letting me join in P.T in the first place. He was owed a thank you at least. I sighed again, more out of tiredness than anything else, and I turned around to go back to Lieutenant Winters.

It was a long walk back to the track. I kept my head down and limped along, wondering when I had ever ran for as long as I just had. A smile slowly crept onto my face when I realized that I had just run a mile, and had faced down a bully of a man immediately afterwards. The spark of pride that blossomed in my chest was nearly strong enough to rival the anger and frustration I felt from dealing with Sobel. I promised myself that after I sent the telegram to Colonel Sink, I would write home to Mother and Father and tell them about the run at least.

I was almost to the track and walking between the barracks to get back to Lieutenant Winters. I was about to walk out into the clearing when I heard men's voices getting closer and more clearer.

"She's gotta lot to learn, taking on Sobel like that." A man's voice came from the other side of the barracks. I froze and halted, not wanting to show up if anyone was talking about me. I glanced over my shoulder, debating taking the long way around to avoid eavesdropping on this conversation.

"Well, _I_ like her." Luz's voice came ringing loud and clear. "She just wants to not die immediately after jumping out of the plane. That's fair enough."

There was a snort and the first voice spoke again. "She's gotta ask whether she should be doing this, 'stead of wanting it."

"You woulda pissed yourself the second Sobel looked at you like that, Cobb. Lady's got the biggest setta balls I've ever seen." One of them said in a thick Philadelphia accent. Despite the vulgarness of the statement, it was said unmistakingly an approving tone.

"Doesn't matter." The first voice-Cobb- snapped. "The broad's crazy."

"Shut up, Cobb," A new voice spoke. "Crazy or not, she's got backbone to disobey Sobel. She can take my gun and fire for me. A tough girl's a tough girl."

"That's what I'm saying, Liebgott!" Luz exclaimed. "See, he gets it."

The group's voices faded and I knew they had passed completely by. I glanced around again, making sure no one had seen me hovering. When I made sure the coast was clear and I couldn't hear Luz and his group anymore, I hurried out from behind the barracks and rushed off to find Lieutenant Winters.


	5. 5: The Talk of the Town

It was official. Herbert Sobel hated me.

His meeting with Colonel Sink hadn't happened the way he had wanted. It wound up being a half hour meeting where Sink had berated Sobel for not letting me do my job, and for throwing a tantrum in front of his own men. Sobel had been forced to stand at attention the entire time, while I stood awkwardly beside the colonel's desk and tried to not feel bad that Sink was really letting Sobel have it.

By the end of the meeting, Colonel Sink had turned to me and said, "My apologies for this whole mess. But if you ever choose to join in P.T again, you should be held to the same standards as the men, got it?"

"Yes sir," I replied, knowing that that was fair. Colonel Sink nodded at that before glaring hard at Sobel.

"I don't want anymore of this near my desk." He said darkly. "You both have jobs to do, so God dammit let each other work. If I hear anymore about you two not being able to let each other work, there will be consequences." He then kicked us, leaving me feeling like a scolded kid leaving the principal's office.

The next time I tried to join P.T, Sobel let me. But he immediately switched the day's schedule to running up Currahee the moment he saw me approaching. I ran the mountain with the rest of Easy Company, quickly falling behind as the incline got steeper and steeper. By the time I had reached the top, men were already heading down.

There had been a chain of men still waiting at the top, and they physically grabbed me the second I was close enough and shoved me up to the top so that I could touch the plaque and head back down. I nearly tripped over myself dozens of times going downhill, but I made it.

In dead last place, but I had never run up a mountain before. So I was trying to be proud of myself for that.

The men were more willing to acknowledge me now. Malarkey and Muck teamed up with me during a marathon, and several of them now nodded politely to me when I joined them. It was still an icy relationship with most of them, but it was one I could deal with.

It was almost late August when Luz had the audacity to invite me to something for weekend pass. "A few of us are gonna go see that new movie in theaters." Luz had explained after I nearly fell after running Currahee for the third time. "You wanna come?"

"Are you sure?" I asked immediately. "I haven't talked to really anyone since joining P.T."

Luz shrugged. "That's all in the past. Besides, we're buddies now. So if I invite ya, you're safe to come with."

A large man named Toye had been passing by at that moment and he snorted. "Maybe you can shut Luz up. It'd be nice to watch a picture without him yappin' the whole fuc-I mean, the whole time."

"I mean, yes I guess I'll come." I said. "Just don't lose your weekend passes in the meantime."

They both snickered at the joke and went on their way to the showers and I left the camp to head back to my hotel room. The moment I was back in the room, I took a moment to reflect on how different my experience here was from theirs and I shoved the twinge of unneeded guilt away. The cleanliness of this room contrasted too greatly with the aesthetic of the camp that it was sometimes jarring to come back here after spending all day with the men.

The next day was Friday, and I spent most of the morning interviewing various officers around Toccoa, from the head of the medical staff to Lieutenant Nixon (he was extremely flattered when I entered his office to ask). I was about to leave camp for the day, my notebook full of fresh notes that needed to be sorted and filtered, when I heard my name being called.

"Baptiste!" Muck called out, speed walking to me as fast as he could without actually running. "Thank God I found you before tomorrow. I heard that you were goin' to a movie with a few men tomorrow afternoon."

I opened my mouth, not sure how to address that. It was true; was it a bad thing? Before I could ask and figure that out, Muck continued.

"I was hoping you could help me out tomorrow morning, before your film." Muck said, finally slowing down. "You see, it's my first anniversary with my girl back home, and I need to get her a gift. I'm useless when it comes to finding something a lady would like, so I was wondering if you could come with me and help?"

"Oh," I started. That wasn't at all what I was expecting. "I'm sorry, Muck, but why me? We don't really know each other. Surely one of the other men who have wives can help."

Muck shrugged. "I suppose. It's just that Malarky got his weekend pass taken away so he can't help me. I just want Faye to have a nice anniversary; it's damn awful that I'm stuck here and we can't see each other. Especially since it's our _first_ anniversary, you know?" The moment he said the name Faye, Muck sort of melted and had started smiling without even noticing.

I smiled up at Muck and huffed quietly. "I'll help. Though you've got to tell me all about this girl tomorrow."

Muck smiled brightly and he nodded excitedly. "Ask Malark, I can talk about Faye for hours."

* * *

The next morning, I gathered that Faye Tanner was an extremely lucky woman. Muck could indeed talk about her for long amounts of time. We met for breakfast at the small cafe across from my hotel and Muck had given me their whole story: how he and Faye met in high school when she was a freshman and he was a sophomore. How he had been fond of her for years before he even asked her to go steady with him. How Faye had turned bright red and beamed when he finally did ask her.

Faye's father had apparently not wanted her to date until after high school, so Muck had given it "way too much time" before asking a couple of months after she graduated. Now she was going to school to become a teacher and Muck had the full intention of proposing the minute the war was over and he could go home. But until then, we needed a nice first anniversary gift.

There was a cute jewelry store in town, and the moment Muck and I entered I realized how difficult it was going to be to find something for Faye in here. Muck spent a good ten minutes at each and every counter, debating every piece before moving on.

"What's Faye's favorite color, Muck?" I asked after making one full circle around the store.

"She really likes blue." Muck muttered, frowning at a set of golden earrings. "Blue makes her eyes look brighter."

I kept my eyes peeled for something blue after that, letting Muck debate between two rings before he moved on from both of them. When I found a blue pendant on a silver chain, I called Muck over for his inspection. He took one good long look at it before a slow smile spread across his face.

"This will be great!" Muck exclaimed, rushing to find the one employee. I stayed with him as the employee wrapped the necklace and packaged it for Muck to send out straight away. As we left the jewelry store, Muck was over the moon.

"Thanks for helping, Baptiste." He said, holding the box as if it held something precious. "You could guess that it takes even longer if I was by myself."

"No problem, Muck." I replied. "It was fun helping."

"Hey, Baptiste," He started. "You can call me Skip if you want. Nearly everyone does."

"Oh okay. No problem, Skip." I corrected myself and he smiled good naturedly. After we said goodbye, Skip went off to the post office and I made my way to the theater to meet Luz.

Who had he brought with him? I had seen Luz hang around with several different men. I just hoped whoever he invited didn't hate my guts.

I rounded the corner to the theater and immediately recognized the man standing outside. He was tall and lanky, a cigarette hanging lazily from his mouth. His black hair was pushed back and he nodded in a friendly way when he saw me.

"Oh hey," I said. "You helped me on the track the other day." The man blinked at me and nodded again, confirming it. "I just wanted to say thank you. I honestly don't think I was going to be able to get back up after I fell."

He shrugged, a movement that caused the rest of his body to move with him. "It wasn't anything. We'd have to add you as an obstacle if someone didn't help."

"Well, I appreciate it anyway." I insisted. "I get the feeling sometimes that no one would've helped me up like you had." I silently cursed myself but he snickered good naturedly.

"Eh, that's kinda true. Luz likes ya a lot; he's been defending you to everyone who'll listen."

"That's nice of him." I said, touched by the small bit of loyalty from Luz. "Thank you again for helping me though." I paused, stumped for a moment. "I'm sorry, I didn't get your name."

He stuck out his hand for me to shake. "Joseph Liebgott. Nice to help you, then meet you."

"Frances Baptiste," I said, shaking his hand just as firmly. "Nice to be helped by, then…" I drifted off and realized he was smirking at me. "Sorry, I kinda lost my way there."

"Don't worry about it, Baptiste." Liebgott said, still holding back his laughter. "I understood ya loud and clear." We finally let go of each other's hands. "You seen this movie?" He jerked his thumb to the film poster and I assumed that's the movie we'd end up seeing this afternoon.

I shook my head. "Haven't had time for movies lately."

"You and me both." Liebgott replied.

Luz rounded the corner with the man I recognized as Perconte. "Oh good, you're here Baptiste." Luz said. "This is Perconte, that's Liebgott. Good to see everyone is getting along so far."

The whole group consisted of myself, Liebgott, Luz, Toye, Guarnere and Perconte. The moment Toye and Guarnere found us standing outside the theater, Perconte led the way inside with Luz loudly proclaiming that Guarnere and Toye were extremely late and would cost us the film. Guarnere just rolled his eyes at him and started talking to Liebgott about a poker tournament that was apparently happening later tonight in the barracks.

We all bought our tickets and I wound up sitting between Luz and Liebgott. As the film began, Liebgott pulled out his carton of cigarettes and held it out to me, an offering. I took a cigarette and he pulled out his lighter next, the small flame of the lighter glowing orange as the black and white screen began to brighten as the projector heated up.

I leaned into Liebgott's lighter and the smoke tasted bitter on my tongue. I had smoked cigarettes casually in college and socially during work, so the act of smoking wasn't that dramatic one. Liebgott shifted in his seat to put his cigarettes and lighter back in his pocket, and for a moment he had to lean closer to me to reach his pocket. I caught a whiff of aftershave and made myself busy puffing on my cigarette.

The film we were seeing was the only film being shown in town. It was called The Talk of the Town, and it was a comedy about a love triangle, with a hint of mystery. A man was being accused of a crime and the trio had to prove he was innocent. It was entertaining at least, and I loved Cary Grant in any role he was in. From beside me, Luz was whispering the lines along with the movie. Evidently, he had seen this movie before.

As the movie drew to a close, Guarnere was shifting a lot in his seat, his elbow bumping into Liebgott enough times that Liebgott started whisper fighting with Guarnere about keeping my body in his own seat. I was almost finished with my cigarette and ended up getting distracted and started watching them bicker instead of the movie. When the credits rolled and the lights came up, I was surprised the two hadn't gotten up and started throwing punches.

"Next weekend," Guarene started as we left the theater. "We're going to a bar. I can take so many movies, Luz."

"How can you say that?" Luz asked exasperatedly.

"I'm with Guarnere on this one." Perconte shrugged. "Bar next time sounds better."

"Great." Guarnere said firmly. "Same time, same day, same group if Sobel hasn't stolen anymore weekend passes." He paused. "That includes you, Baptiste."

I stared for a moment before Luz slapped me on the back in a friendly way. "Welcome to the weekend group, Baptiste."

Toye chuckled. "It ain't that big an honor, Baptiste."

"Are you kidding?" I asked. "It's always been my lifelong dream to be apart of a weekend group." Perhaps it was the dry delivery of my words, but it made Liebgott duck his head and chuckle into his shirt.

"In that case, you're uninvited." Guarnere replied, but the way he was smirking and the teasing light in his eyes told me he was joking.

I softly cried out, "No!" Luz dapped at his eyes, grieving my short lived membership of this weekend group.

"Rest in peace, Baptiste." Perconte said with a heavy sigh. "We only knew her for two hours. She will be missed."

We ended up passing my hotel on our way back to the camp. I said goodbye to the five of them and went upstairs to my room, the taste of cigarettes on my tongue and a lightness that I hadn't felt in a while resting contently in my chest.


End file.
